


Even when I feel like dying

by Perching_Owl



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Deprivation of senses, Gags, Kidnapping, M/M, Torture, Whumptober 2020, but happy ending, drifting in and out of consciousness, still canon-typical violence, straight up whump, very little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perching_Owl/pseuds/Perching_Owl
Summary: Byakuya Kuchiki wakes up dizzy and disorientated.
Relationships: Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Byakuya
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Perching_Owl's Whumptober 2020 Collection





	Even when I feel like dying

**Author's Note:**

> 24th fill for the [whumptober 2020](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | **Blindfolded** | **Sensory Deprivation**
> 
> Here is the [ Link](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated) for the upcoming prompts.
> 
> Title is taken from 'The mountain' by Three Days Grace.

Byakuya Kuchiki wakes up dizzy and disorientated.

Or rather his consciousness returns, slowly allowing him to reach the surface, slipping from the darkness of unconsciousness into an undefined blackness where his body is shivering and shaking. Every muscle is chilled to the bone, frozen at first, then shivering to warm itself in what is ice-cold air. He gasps, a small, involuntary movement, cold air burning his airways, and his frigid fingers curl into fists as every fibre of his being tenses.

The cold is seeping into him, not only from the air but from the freezing ground below, on which he is kneeling. A layer of water has caused his Hakama to become drenched, all the way from his knees to his feet, the fabric heavy and soaked. He isn't wearing anything else, his feet bare, the same as his torso. His hands are held above his head, painful on his shoulders. He moves them ever so slightly. Metal digs into his wrists, ice-cold, causing him to flinch.

That is what makes him pause.

He moves his hands. The metal digs into his wrists. His fingers fumbling, scrambling for the chain itself above the shackles. He finds them, every link cold beneath the tips of his fingers.

There is no sound though.

He doesn't hear anything.

Nothing.

He swallows. Tries to calm. Tries to listen. He hears air escaping his lungs, hears the heart beating his chest, hears the blood rushing through his ears.

But he doesn't hear anything else.

His breathing picks up, quickening, and he tries to gulp in air. Tries to swallow, but it's difficult, something hard and heavy in his mouth, blocking his airways, and it holds his mouth open, just enough to let him breathe, but he cannot speak, the ball in his mouth too big.

No way to make a sound. No way to listen to anything besides his body. A wave of fear washes through him, and he beats it back, calms his breath. He won't let himself succumb to this degradation.

He will endure.

So, there is no possibility he can hear or make himself known. But that is only one of his senses - he knows already about touch. That one he does have, judging by the shivers running through him, the cold metal, the strange material in his mouth. Which reminds him there is still taste as well, but the ball in his mouth is tasteless, only a smooth surface.

Next is sight. Maybe they won't have taken that from him, a tiny voice in his head says. But as he opens his eyes, that small sliver of hope is slashed. He is staring into blackness and tries to blink. His lashes brush against fabric. Some tension seeps from him. At least that is not permanent. He is only blindfolded, not blinded, though it leaves him still shivering and shaking, with no way of knowing what happens next around him.

So he tries hearing again. As he tries to listen for something, only to be met with no sound other than the ones his body produces, his breathing quickens again. He closes his eyes, calming himself. One breath in, double the length breathing out.

There is one last sense, he could try, but he needs to remain calm for that. Sensing spiritual pressure has always been second nature to him. It has been something he could do without practice though only with less accuracy. Yoruichi had helped him with that though.

But there is nothing around him, nothing he can feel. It's as if he has been placed in a vacuum, a feeling he has only experienced a few times before. It's never been pleasant because usually when it happened, he had been drained of any spiritual energy, leaving him crumbling beneath the slightest pressure.

He is bound, that much he knows, and the same shackles around his wrist are the ones that keep his spiritual pressure down. Of that, he is sure as there is no other explanation for having lost the connection to the world around him.

He holds back another shiver only by sheer will power. He is not going to show his kidnappers anymore of his emotions. They won't get that satisfaction.

His stomach contracts painfully and his eyebrow twitches in irritation.

It takes him a moment to place it as hunger. It's been ages since he has felt hunger, acute and debilitating like this, and it's been a long time since he has been so cold. But it draws his attention away from the state of his current situation and draws it to how he came to be in it.

His memory only slowly returns. There had been a festival, one of the bigger clans of Soul Society hosting, and he had been invited, and of course, he had come. Of course, there had been the official obligation of going, but having Renji by his side for the duration of it had been enjoyable as they walked from stall to stall after he had paid the hosting clan his respects. Renji had stuck close to him, his hand occasionally lingering on Byakuya's back when he had directed him, searing even through the layers of clothing he had been wearing.

Renji had smiled at him, one he had returned, just the slightest quirking up the corners of his mouth, leaning back into that warmth. At some point they had broken away from each other, Renji offering to get something to eat for them both while Byakuya had been held back by one minor clan noble- and here it begins to get fuzzy because someone had pressed a drink in his hand, had talked with him, and of course, he had responded, answering to questions and drinking whatever he had been given-

\- it must have been poison. Something that has weakened his body, something Yoruichi had not trained him for.

A hand brushes over his side then. His body snaps to attention, startling him. Someone is here with him. His hands ball into fists, his body readying for a fight. Maybe he is able to slip free from the shackles if his kidnappers are distracted. Maybe- he needs to be ready.

Again the hand touches him, running along his back, and this time he pulls away from it, anger at their daringness to touch him flooding through him. Whoever they are. They have no right. There is only one who is allowed to touch him this freely, who has been given his permission.

Bile rises up in his throat, and he swallows, gagging on the thing in his mouth, the anger and helplessness at the violation almost chocking him.

Another hand - or maybe the same- touches his other side, and again he startles. He cannot keep doing this. He needs to maintain control even if their touch is not permitted. Swallowing, he focuses in on himself, on that very centre of his body, keeping every muscle tense and ready for any invasion.

Slap.

A hand connects with his cheek then.

It breaks his concentration, startling him again, and he tries to brace for what is happening, but it's futile, he doesn't know from which direction they come. He cannot hear them, cannot see, cannot feel their movement.

Another harsh slap connects with his face.

A punch to his stomach.

He wants to tell them what cowards they are.

Drugging him.

Binding him.

Anger surges through him. His lips pull back in a snarl, which he tries to wipe off just as quickly. He is not giving them even the slightest reaction. And yet he needs to hope it's been too brief to give anything away.

A kick connects with his stomach. Pain spreads through his torso. In a strange twist, it keeps him centred, the pain reminding him he has not chosen this for himself.

Another punch, another kick, another slap.

It will leave marks, bruises and blood.

_(Bloodred hair, silky tresses between his fingers, auburn eyes looking at him. Is Renji alright?)_

He is not going to give them the slightest emotion, he decides then. They are not going to get another reaction from him, even if they cut him to pieces, even if they decide to continue this for eternity, as long as he doesn't know if they have Renji, he is not going to give them an inch.

And if they don't have Renji, he will wait for him, will cling to the memories he has, hoping they will give him the strength to endure. He has to endure if he wants to see Renji again, feel his lips, bask in his warmth.

His whole body is aflame with pain as hits, punches and kicks connect with it.

His thoughts begin to drift.

_(A soft peck placed on the crown of his head, a whispered good morning, warm arms around his waist)_

A fist connects with his chin, making his teeth scrape along the ball in his mouth, and the taste of blood floods his mouth.

_(Rough skin beneath his fingertips, lips meeting each other, as he leans over the desk)_

The breath is knocked from him as a foot connects with his chest, one rib snapping.

_(Swords clashing, glistening skin in the sunlight, a kiss stolen)_

A punch or a kick to his kidneys, pain blinding.

_(Fingers playing with his hair, the sunlight filtered through cherry blossoms, the grass beneath his feet)_

A cylindrical object against his shoulder blades, pain exploding, burning, searing.

_(Soft bed linen against his bare skin, deft hands leaving fingerprints, devouring each other)_

Then it stops, and they leave him in darkness again.

* * *

Time becomes a fickle thing.

He knows it passes, knows they come back to him, punching, slicing, kicking him.

Blood begins to trickle from his wounds, crust over, and is broken again, leaving it to run down his body. Sometimes he thinks he could use that to measure time, but how quickly does blood run.

He doesn't know how much times passes, cannot pinpoint it down, and sometimes he wishes for them to return, just to make sure they have not left for Renji to find a body. Because he wants to endure. He wants to see Renji - if only for one last time.

The shivering is a constant.

The cold is a constant.

Hunger is a constant.

The strength saps from him. He doesn't hold himself as strong anymore, doesn't manage to hold himself up, instead hanging in the chains, his head leaning against his arms. He still doesn't make a sound more than the ones his body makes involuntarily.

A grunt.

A choked breath.

Bones breaking.

Flesh tearing.

Blood dripping.

Sometimes the memories feel real and solid, an escape if he ever needed. But then comes the doubt as his lover had not come for him. Had left him.

Sometimes he cannot recall his lover's smile, his hair - it's bloodred - or his kisses.

Sometimes he isn't even sure if it had only been a figment of his imagination.

He drifts, something between sleeping and dying.

* * *

Time passes.

He drifts closer to the surface.

_(A cold hospital room, bloodred hair falling over a bowed head, a question never spoken lingering in the air)_

Warm liquid splashes over his face. It doesn't fit, doesn't fit into his current state as it feels like blood, but it cannot be. It isn't his.

_(A sword clashing against his, eyes brimming with anger and determination, a snarl on blood-stained lips)_

No one is coming for him.

_(Fangs reaching the moon)_

Then there are hands on him. And they are different, their touch light, hesitant, almost as if afraid they are going to hurt him.

They move along his body, as if to check him over, strong, warm hands running over his sides, running up his arms, and they feel familiar and he knows them, but it cannot be. They move along his neck, move up, and something at the back of his head comes loose, the strain on his mouth lessening, and it hurts as his jaw is moved, the ball falling from his mouth. He has to make some noise because the hands still, brushing over his cheeks, in the gentlest of gestures.

The hands move again, sliding along his jaw, massaging softly the joint, and he isn't sure if it eases the pain, but the touch alone is careful. Perhaps kindness helping the pain to lessen. The hands continue, fingertips caressing against the side of his head, brushing through streaks of hair, which has to be matted with blood and dirt. This time they move for the blindfold, and as it comes loose, so does whatever has blocked his hearing, a pressure he has not known easing off his ears.

The sounds come first; his own harsh breathing, soft words he cannot make sense of, whispered above his head, and the sound of metal chains moving. He presses his lips shut, tries not to make a sound, to reign in his errant breathing.

In the distance, there are people shouting, screaming. Closer he can hear the hum of a barrier, the dripping of blood on a stone floor, and the rattling breaths of someone dying.

Then the blindfold drops away, and he needs to squeeze his eyes shut, the harsh light filling the room painful, and a whimper passes his lips, this one audible, and he curses himself for his weakness, for revealing it so plainly. Again, he pries his eyes open, ready for the pain, and what comes into focus is a harsh cellar room, light streaming in from one side, but that is not important because Renji is there in front of him.

Renji is worried, his eyes wide, his lips pressed together, the crease of his forehead deep. His auburn hair has been tied quickly, and there is blood all over his face and body, his dark robes drenched in it.

'Renji?' he whispers, voice rough and painful, sounds scraping along his vocal cords.

'Yes, I'm here,' Renji responds, and he tugs the blindfold away, his other hand against Byakuya's jaw, a thumb brushing over his cheek, and his eyes focused on his bruised and swollen face.

Then his eyes snap up to the chain, and Renji murmurs, 'We will get you out of here. Just give me a moment.' He reaches out, his hands steady, and he unlocks the shackles, only fumbling for a short moment with the keys.

As soon as they release him, Byakuya slumps forward, boneless and devoid of energy. Renji's arms catch him, hold him close, and he exhales as he smells Renji's scent, a deep, rich and earthy tone, only enhanced by the spiritual pressure wrapping around him, suffocating him almost in his weakened state yet familiar and comforting.

His arms fall on Renji's shoulders, warm and strong, dependable. He closes his eyes, burying his face in the dark robes, relief flooding him. Gentle words are muttered into his ear, soft reassurance, and Renji's arms have slipped around him, one arm covering his back, and Byakuya relaxes into him.

He has persevered, he thinks, and then moves to kiss Renji, desperate and hungry.

Later he will ask what has happened, why he was targeted and how Renji found him.

Later he will sleep in his own bed, his lover by his side.

Later dreams will haunt him.

But for now, Renji responds to the kiss, the same desperation there, his hands moving over Byakuya's back, the wet sounds of lips and tongues meeting audible. For now, kissing is enough to remind him, is enough to rekindle all that lost hope, bask in the warmth that is his lover for they are still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos and constructive criticism appreciated :) Thank you for reading!


End file.
